Suffer the Little Children
by geekEchik
Summary: As Armageddon looms on the horizon, one lonely little girl just might have the key to mankind's salvation. Lucifer is free, the world is on the brink of destruction, and Dean & Sam will learn the true worth of home and family. Dean/OFC, Sam/Jo
1. Prologue

It was an old house in an even older city. Weathered by the sun, its white stucco walls rose above the cobblestone street radiating the kind of warmth that made passers by stop and stare a moment. They'd find themselves smiling for no reason at all before giving their heads a visible shake and moving on down the road. A high coquina wall patched with brick and concrete surrounded the rear of the house, guarding it on three sides. It wasn't at all uncommon for locals and tourists alike to be seen running their hands reverently along its scarred surface as they walked by with curiously content smiles lighting their faces.

The local historical register listed the house as "The Bernier-LeClaire House". To Camille Carey it was simply home. She'd taken her first breath in one of the second floor bedrooms and had fallen from the oak tree in the backyard when she was six and broken her arm. It was where she learned to walk, to ride a bike, and where she learned that life isn't always fair.

From the window seat in her bedroom, Camille peeled back the purple sari cloth curtain and looked down at the street below. She saw the smiling faces of tourists as they posed beside the fountain in the center of the road or next to the brass plaque outside the house's iron gate. Sometimes, Camille wished she could do that. She wished she could be normal and have a normal life. She wished her mother and brothers were still alive. And on the days when she was feeling particularly selfish, Camille wished she had her father back.

Outside the window, the sun moved behind a cloud casting the bedroom in shadow. Camille dropped the curtain and sighed as she wrapped her arms around her bent knees. School had been out for a week but she didn't really care. It wasn't as though she had any friends who she'd want to spend time with anyway. Even if she did, Camille doubted she'd have much to talk about with them. Sure she thought Zac Efron was cute, who didn't? And no, she wasn't a Taylor Swift fan - not that anyone could really blame her. If you'd heard one of the girl's songs, you'd heard 'em all.

But when faced with the knowledge that the world as she knew it was about to end, talking about what happened on Gossip Girl or voting for the next American Idol weren't exactly sitting at the top of Camille's to do list. Slipping off the seat, she kneeled down and rested her elbows on the bench. With her clasped hands pressed to her forehead, Camille began to pray, "Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…"


	2. Chapter 1

Morning dawned with dreary, overcast skies. The darkness complimented the heaviness that was slowly seeping into Bobby Singer's heart and his home. He honestly didn't know what to do with Dean or Sam, let alone Dean _and _Sam. They were walking on eggshells. Each was waiting for the other shoe to drop, skirting around the two rather large elephants that dominated the room.

As he measured two scoops of coffee and dumped them in the filter lined basket, Bobby wondered with a bitter smile if the resurrection of the damned devil was the least of their problems. Getting those two boys to communicate with each other was worse than pulling teeth.

"Dean! Sam!" he called out gruffly. "Get your asses down here."

Bobby pushed the coffee pot into place and switched the unit on. Bracing his hands against the rim of the sink, he stared out the window and sighed heavily. For seven days there'd been nothing. No sign of Lucifer, no demonic activity whatsoever. Hell for that matter, no angels either. He'd been through every single book and parchment in his library and still he'd come up empty handed. Add the boys' bullshit to the fire and Bobby was about to lose what remained of his sanity. Ellen's phone call couldn't have come at a better time as far as he was concerned. It would do Dean and Sam some good to get out on the road, they might even end up accidentally speaking to one another.

The steady drip of the coffee maker was drowned out by the thump of heavy boots coming down the stairs. Tilting his head to the left so that he could listen more closely, Bobby waited. He wasn't disappointed. The sounds of a scuffle followed, ending when a solid body connected with the wall. Damned infants, that's what they were, still shoving each other around like they were kids.

Bobby didn't realize he was smiling until Dean stumbled in and grouchily demanded to know what was so funny at "fuck o'clock" in the morning.

"Your face," Sam muttered under his breath, just loud enough that only Bobby could hear him.

Biting his lip to keep from chuckling, the older hunter pulled three mugs from the cabinet by the sink. After pouring them all a cup, he sat down at the battered Formica table beside the window.

"Got a call from Ellen late last night," Bobby said tersely. "Seems she's lost contact with Jo."

"Ain't like that's something new, Bobby," Dean groused, disgruntled at being woken up at such an ungodly hour for a catfight, especially one he hadn't been around to witness. "She's probably just caught up working a case. Nothing to worry about."

Sam cleared his throat and took a deep breath before adding, "I really can't believe I'm about to say this but maybe Dean's right, Bobby. Jo's headstrong and this isn't the first time she's ducked out on Ellen. If she feels like she's - "

"For a year and a half?" Bobby interrupted. Two pairs of eyes blinked at him incredulously. "Yeah, you heard me right. Girl's been gone damn near eighteen months now without a peep."

"Shit," Dean said, rubbing a hand over his face. Whatever this was, it was more than a typical mother-daughter argument. "Where was she when Ellen heard from her last?"

"Orlando."

Son of a bitch, Dean cursed silently. It would have to be Florida. Everything twisted and truly fucked up always happened in Florida. God, but he hated that damned state.

"If it's been a year and a half," Sam asked, breaking his brother's train of thought, "why call now? Did something happen?"

For a long moment, Bobby didn't speak, just sat there staring at Dean and Sam as if they'd each grown a second head. In all honesty, he was surprised that his announcement had pulled more than two words from either of them. A niggling thought tickled the back of his mind, almost as if it were being whispered into his ear. _The Lord works in mysterious ways._

Mysterious ways my ass, he thought.

"Hunter by the name Lee Garrett says he thought he saw Jo down in Jacksonville. Couldn't be a hundred percent sure, he'd only seen her once a few years back - 'fore the Roadhouse burned down. It ain't much, but it's a lead."

"And I'm guessing you're expecting us to follow this lead?" Dean scoffed. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his ankles. "As my little brother is so fond of saying, this is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles, Bobby. Why would we go chasing after Jo who most likely doesn't want to be found in the first place when - thanks to Gigantor over there - the fucking Prince of Darkness is running loose?"

"Fuck you, too, Dean," Sam bit out as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his brother.

"Goddamn it, boy!" Bobby shouted, pounding a fist on the table top and spilling his coffee. "If you'd pull your damned fool head outta your ass for five seconds, you'd realize that Lucifer was gonna rise no matter what you two did. It was _meant _to happen. Just like you're _meant _to stop it. And I'm pretty damn sure you'll get 'round to that sooner than you really want to. But in the meantime? You get off your sorry asses and go find that girl. She's all Ellen's got left. Jo's a hunter and that makes her family. Right now, whether you like it or not, family's all any of us have got. Am I gettin' through to you, boy?"

Dean ground his teeth audibly. "Yes, sir," he hissed then turned to his brother. "Get your crap, Sam. We've got a needle to find."


	3. Chapter 2

The moon was bright and silvery overhead as Beth Hart made her way down St. George Street, winding her way through the throng of tourists. St. Augustine saw more than its fair share of them throughout the year but during the summer months they seemed to multiply exponentially. They were drawn to the sunny, sandy beaches and the mysterious beauty of the nation's oldest city.

Nestled along the Matanzas River and guarded by the coquina parapets of the Castillo de San Marcos, the city of St. Augustine was a rich, unusual blending of the old and the new. Preservationists did all they could to keep the old but in some cases, the change was a necessary evil and the new prevailed. After much debate, some rather controversial upgrades were being made to the Bridge of Lyons. Upgrades that were badly needed but still left the city's residents more than a little apprehensive.

Traffic had tripled since the project began. Even now at ten o'clock at night, cars clogged South Castillo Drive, backing all the way up to San Marco Avenue.

Beth smiled wryly. Thank god she only lived a few blocks away from the tavern. On a rainless night like tonight, it was a short walk. Well, it would have been if she hadn't overslept. The delayed start meant she had to push her way through the party that blocked the street as they stood around waiting for their "Ghost Walk" tours to begin.

With a soft chuckle, Beth whispered, "If they only knew."

She caught the eye of one of the costumed guides and raised a hand in greeting. "Try not to scare the hell out of them tonight, Claire," Beth teased lightly.

The young woman waived back with a bright, cheery smile and laughed, "Where's the fun in that?"

A few good-natured chuckles from the group followed and Beth couldn't help but join them. Claire Carey was the most popular guide on the "Ghost Walk". Her talent for telling tales was unparalleled. She had a natural charm and charisma that had tourists and locals alike eating out of the palm of her hand. Claire was something of a living legend in the Old City.

She was also one of the few real friends Beth had made since settling in St. Augustine a little over a year ago. God, had it really been a year already? Maybe Olivia was right, maybe time really was relative. Missouri seemed more than a lifetime ago. Beth snorted. In a way, it was. At least it was for her. The person she was then no longer existed.

Shoving her hands in her hip pockets, Beth climbed the weathered wood steps and onto the wide front porch of Brew-Ha-Ha. The tavern was busier than usual for a Friday night, something she once again attributed to the start of the high season. Beth was suddenly very glad she'd decided on wearing a tank top tonight instead of her customary tee shirt. With the crush of people filling the pub, she was going to need all the air she could get.

A handful of regulars were easily spotted here and there as she slipped behind the bar. The familiar faces helped ease the ache her brief stint into self-pity had created. Over the next few hours, Beth lost herself in a routine she'd been performing since she turned fifteen and out of necessity had graduated from slinging cases as a part-time bar back in her family's saloon and had begun pouring whiskey instead.

Shortly after midnight, Beth took her one and only break of the night.

"Full house tonight," she observed as she opened the door to the manager's office. "Lots of new faces."

"So I noticed," the blond woman said, smoothing a hand over her chin-length hair to calm any errant strands. "Have you eaten?"

When Beth shook her head, "Didn't have time."

"You'd damned well better make time," she was told harshly. Beth knew her mentor was right. Olivia had been playing this game for far, far longer than she had.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied. "I will."

Olivia nodded in acceptance then pushed away from her desk. Swiveling around, she reached for the painting hanging above her credenza. It was pulled aside to reveal a wall safe. When Olivia turned back around, she passed Beth an insulated cup.

"Should still be warm. Be a good girl and drink up, will ya?" Olivia said with a conspiratorial grin.

Feeling like a child being called to carpet (which in a way she was), Beth flushed with embarrassment. Somehow, Olivia always knew. She smiled back as she raised the cup to her lips. The heady, life sustaining fluid filled her mouth and she nearly moaned as she swallowed. Though she was loath to admit it, Beth loved the coppery tang, had come to crave it. If it weren't for Olivia's intervention and guidance, God only knew what she would have become, how many lives she would have taken in her thirst, her addiction. Beth drained the cup and flicked her tongue over her bottom lip to catch a wayward drop. When the pleasure and satisfaction of a full belly receded, the guilt followed.

The older woman smiled warmly and placed a comforting hand over Beth's. "You've got to be more careful, kiddo. Keep yourself fed with the stock you have at home. It's better that you be late than hungry. Can't have you geeking out on me and eating my customers. It's bad for business."

The teasing succeeded in pulling Beth from her rapid decent into self-loathing and shame. What had happened to her hadn't been her fault, she knew that now. But in the beginning, Beth had spent countless hours tearing herself up inside, blaming herself for letting that damned _thing _get the drop on her. She'd been tracking it all the way from Savannah, missed her opportunity in Jacksonville then had gotten over anxious when she caught up to it in Flagler Beach.

Beth never saw it coming. The blow stuck her temple. Pain and darkness exploded inside her skull. When she woke up the next night, Beth opened her eyes to her worst nightmare. At first she thought the blood she was tasting was her own, caused somehow by the attack. She couldn't have been more wrong.

The sound of his voice still echoed in her ears. "Wakey, wakey," he'd cooed. When Beth finally managed to turn her head and look at him, horror seized her heart. He stood over her with his arm outstretched, dripping. With the most malicious smile Beth had ever seen twisting his lips, he'd drawled, "Welcome to the family."

Whatever the vamp had been expecting, it wasn't the blade Beth had pulled from her boot. She still didn't know which had hit the ground first, his body or his head. Olivia found her less than a day later, well into the change.

"What's your name, kiddo?" she'd asked.

"J…Beth. 'M Beth," she managed then sobbed into the woman's shoulder. "Don't…d…don't wanna…d…die."

"Little late for that, honey. Looks like you're already there."

Beth's fingers were shaking when she pulled the knife out a second time and pressed it into Olivia's hand. "You have to. Kill me, cut…oh, god…you have to cut off my head. P…please. Don't let me be…become one of them."

Olivia had rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. Looking back on that night, Beth was glad she hadn't pressed the issue. She was grateful to be alive even if that meant she was on a liquid diet - permanently. The older woman had shown her a different path, one she'd never realized existed. There was no need to kill or feed on humans or even animals. It turned out the local blood bank made deliveries.

In the span of twenty-four life changing hours, the hunter had become the hunted.

Joanna Beth Harvelle died alone on a Tuesday only to be born again as Beth Hart. Could her life be any more surreal?


	4. Chapter 3

The drive from South Dakota to Florida was, in Dean's opinion, damned close to torturous. After an abrupt argument over which route was faster, Sam hadn't spoken except to let Dean know he was hungry or had to take a leak. In the back of his mind, Dean understood that his little brother was carrying a hell of a lot of guilt but that didn't mean the broody, sulking emo crap didn't grate on his last freaking nerve. The jut of Sam's lower lip seemed to push further and further out with each passing mile. When he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, Dean had finally had enough.

Sasquatch was due a beat down and he couldn't think of a better time than the present.

Without a word, Dean swung the Impala down a dirt lane just off Highway 90 in Florida. They were somewhere between MacClenny and Baldwin, about a half hour or so outside Jacksonville and while they really didn't have time for this, Sam was in desperate need of an attitude adjustment. Dean didn't know what they were going to find when they reached their destination but he damned well wasn't going into a potential fight with his wing man not firing on all eight cylinders.

Looking up through his bangs, Sam asked in a voice laced with irritation, "Where the hell are we going, Dean?"

Dean shifted up into park and killed the car's engine before stepping out and slamming the driver's side door. He waited for his brother to follow. He didn't have to wait long.

"Dude, what the hell is your problem?" Sam demanded showing more life than he had in a week.

Pursing his lips, Dean replied, "You wanna know what my problem is, Sammy? It's you."

The taller brother recoiled as though he'd been slapped. "Me?"

"Yeah, Sammy. You. You're a liability. You don't talk to me, you sure as hell don't listen to me. So you tell me how that's not a problem?"

A flare of pain flashed in Sam's eyes before his expression hardened. "You're the one who threw out the ultimatum, Dean not me. All your life you've wanted to be just like Dad. Well, congratulations. You are." Shoving his hands into his hair in helpless frustration he added, "You're a selfish bastard, you know that?"

Dean cocked his head to one side and asked, "You done?' When Sam just shrugged, Dean nodded. "Okay then."

A half a second later he let his fist fly connecting solidly with his brother's jaw. Fire exploded in his knuckles but Dean ignored the throbbing pain. Instead, he followed the blow with another to Sam's middle.

Tears were clouding Dean's vision. He'd never been one for emotional speeches. Chick flick moments were Sam's territory but sometimes things just needed to be said.

"You really don't get it, do you?" he asked as he fisted his hands in Sam's shirt, holding him upright. "You're my brother, Sam. No matter what, you're still my baby brother. And it don't matter that you drank demon blood or broke that damned seal. You're all I got left, dude."

By the time he'd finished, tears were slipping silently down Dean's cheeks. "I love you, dude."

When Sam finally raised his head, he was crying in earnest. Everything he'd been feeling, all the guilt and anger and fear and hopelessness washed over him in a tidal wave of emotion. His arms reached up and all but crushed his brother. He held onto Dean, weeping in harsh, almost guttural bursts.

To his credit, Dean didn't mock Sam for it. This was pretty much what he'd been angling for. He just didn't expect his 'tough love' to actually produce the desired result. He'd thought Sam would hit him back and they'd fight it out. All would be right in Winchester-land again. Well, as right as it ever gets anyway.

Instead, Sam was hugging him for all he was worth, choking out words like "I'm sorry" and "I love you, too" between wracking sobs.

Maybe Dr. Phil wasn't such a moron after all, Dean thought as he rubbed soothing circles over his brother's back, shushing him just like he'd done a hundred times before when they were kids.

"S'okay, Sam," he said, his own voice gruff with emotion.

After an impossibly long few minutes, Sam pulled back enough to give Dean a timid, watery smile before he wiped his face on his sleeve.

"So," he coughed. "Are we done with the chick flick moment?"

Dean laughed heartily. "Hell yeah."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

****

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon painting the morning sky in brilliant hues of scarlet and gold when Beth silently unlocked the back door of the house and let herself inside. It was only a few minutes after six a.m. and she didn't want to wake the other occupants of the house, not just yet. She toed off her shoes and hung her keys up on the peg beside the door before padding over to the refrigerator.

Beth's fingers closed around the handle of a porcelain pitcher on the top shelf. The snack she'd had in Olivia's office had been enough to keep her belly satisfied through her shift. Now, she was in need of a full meal. She pulled an oversized mug from the cabinet and filled it. Forty-five seconds in the microwave warmed it to the temperature she preferred.

As she sipped her dinner, Beth retrieved the bag of exotic coffee she'd purchased as a birthday gift for Camille. For a thirteen year old, the girl had expensive taste. Jamaican Blue Mountain didn't come cheap by a long shot. Beth measured the beans then flipped the switch on the grinder. The sound echoed through the two hundred seventy-five year old house and was followed quickly by the thud of feet hitting the floor overhead.

The rich, full aroma of the coffee was just beginning to fill the room when a slender body launched itself at Beth, nearly knocking the mug from her hand.

"Happy birthday, Camille," Beth said, pressing a kiss to the top of the girl's blond head.

Big, blue-green eyes looked up at her then were rolled dramatically. "My birthday was two weeks ago."

"Yeah," the vampire replied. "Sorry about that. The stuff was on back order."

Just as Beth was turning around to pour her young friend a cup, the broom in the corner clattered to the floor. Startled, she looked down at Camille expectantly.

All the cheer had left the girl's expression when she whispered, "Company's coming."


End file.
